"speedily" poems
1222
The Riddle we can guess
We speedily despise—
Not anything is stale so long
As Yesterday’s surprise—
5.2k
1
My first is no proof of my second,
Though my second's a proof of my first:
If I were my whole I should tell you
Quite freely my best and my worst.
One clue more: if you fail to discover
My meaning, you're blind as a mole;
But if you will frankly confess it,
You show yourself clearly my whole.
2
My first may be the firstborn,
The second child may be;
My second is a texture light
And elegant to see:
My whole do those too often write
Who are from talent free.
3
How many authors are my first!
And I shall be so too
Unless I finish speedily
That which I have to do.
My second is a lofty tree
And a delicious fruit;
This in the hot-house flourishes--
That amid rocks takes root.
My whole is an immortal queen
Renowned in classic lore:
Her a god won without her will,
And her a goddess bore.
4
Me you often meet
In London's crowded street,
And merry children's voices my resting-place proclaim.
Pictures and prose and verse
Compose me--I rehearse
Evil and good and folly, and call each by its name.
I make men glad, and I
Can bid their senses fly,
And festive echoes know me of Isis and of Cam.
But give me to a friend,
And amity will end,
Though he may have the temper and meekness of a lamb.
3.8k
He sleeps in evergreen trees
tying his long beard to a branch
and there he dreams of rabbit stew
wishing to snare one per chance
His emerald coat is perfect camouflage
so he lays on his shinny gold buttons
thinking of mint tea and chocolate cake
after a feast of lamb cutlets and mutton
This little greedy plump fellow
with stripy socks purple and yellow
will sing in his sleep to the birds in the tree
with a voice so sweet and so mellow
With nightfall's, he descends to the ground
making sure no human presence are around
and he speedily sifts through park litter bins
looking for cooking pots made out of tin
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
a strange day
it was full of strangers
when I went for a walk
with my spouse by my side
past the junction
a stranger shouted out to me:
“Help me!”
and I said quite readily:
“But I need help myself –
so how can I help you?”
and I continued on my walk
wondering at this strange world
past the 100-year-old tree
an octogenarian stopped me
and he said:
“Son, can you tell me which way
to Harvey’s Street?”
and I said to him:
“I don’t know Harvey
and so I don’t know his street;
and by the way, maybe you don’t know,
but I’m not your son….”
and past Kangaroo Point
a cheery stranger all teeth
he shouted to me:
“Good day!”
“Oh, great!” I shouted back.
“You may be having a good day
but I’m having a strange day,
I’ll tell you that!”
And past the Greehimn River
a helpless old lady said:
“Ah, kind man, could you pick up
that walking stick for me?
it’s mine and a young man
just now kicked it off my right hand”
And I said with no second thought:
“Oh, old woman
pick it up yourself;
your back is already bent
so half the effort is already there -
and you think I walked all the way here
so I can pick up a walking stick
for a strange old woman I don’t even know?”
and I turned to my spouse
who was with me
all the while and I said:
“Hmmm…what a strange day
with all these strangers…”
and my spouse answered speedily:
“Who are you, creepy stranger?
Why do you talk to me?”
And straight my spouse
walked off from me…
Hmmm…and indeed a strange day it was
with all these strangers one meets
and who walks so close beside
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Step by step a kite ascends to the sky
regains memory of transcendence
of once being the echo of a cloud
sailing speedily westwards.
the kite remembers another life
and strays far beyond it's distance permitted,
when the string rudely pulls it back,controls,
the young cloud, narcissistic
still keeps it's love for the echo, in swirling
wisps of vapor as gently caressing wet touch
The lone woman who suppresses deep inside her chest,
the tumultuous waves of love and passion,
imbuing the emotion sunset spews, suddenly breaks down
the startled sea breeze is the only witness to her outburst.
the sky slipping fast in to the gloom of darkness
stands frozen, silent, as if melting in the pain love causes,
when one bids final good bye to the beloved, vowed never to part.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Baby birds sit still,
sleeping softly, in baby eggs not hatched,
while mother bird waits patiently
for little shells to crack.
Now little birds with open eyes
chirp sharply without rest,
and mother bird leaves speedily
to gather worms and crumbs of bread.
After their meals, the little birds
are filled with food and joy,
'till mother bird hops closer
to help them soon deploy.
With harried squeaks
and frenzied flapping,
they fall down from their nest,
and mother bird, from up above,
spies patiently, in hopes of their success.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 6:06 PM UTC
calm and
fast-flowing but
unsuspecting of the
sudden drop, where it tumbles--
with its glorious white
droplets of pure
life, soon to be immersed
in darkness,
uniformity,
among the others
who've broken,
fallen,
before it.
and they all mend as one--
as the river,
still moving speedily along
but faster, with the memory
of free fall
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
The Race
An injury in sophomore year
caused me to miss the springtime meets.
I was sitting in a cast
while my teammates won their heats.
I am no brain, I can’t sit still
No chance I’ll ace the S.A.T.
But medal wins in track and field
could mean a scholarship for me.
Near Lewis is a cinder track-
an oval of a quarter mile.
So I come here to do my laps
And dream of victory for a while.
A short fat man goes jogging by
In sweat drenched shirt and navy shorts
Gasping, like a fish in air,
fleeing from his mortal thoughts.
I doff my sweats and start to stretch
I take no chances with this knee.
Soon I’m feeling good and loose,
it pays to warm up properly.
A tall thin runner, strangely pale,
About half of the track ahead
I‘ll pass him like he’s standing still
Then he’ll be chasing me instead.
I pass the jogger right away
The pale runner, though, moves speedily
I pick up my pace a notch
Just as quickly so does he..
I stretch my stride, he does the same
And gains upon me steadily
I thought that I was chasing him
It seems instead he’s chasing me.
I never raced this guy before
At any of the local meets
He appears to be as old as me
But his gear is “thrift shop” quality.
Sure enough, he’s gaining fast.
I dig down for a last reserve
I didn’t think I’d lost a step
Bad news, if it’s true, for me
I hear his foot falls close behind
And vainly try to stay ahead
I turn my head to see his face
It is the face of one long dead.
The ghostly winner makes a turn
and passes through the gate and chains
The cemetery lies beyond
That holds the urn with his cremains
“You saw him too” the fat man gasps-
“I thought that he had come for me”
I knew he only came to run
I recognized the ghost you see.
“Tommy Miller was his name
School Champion back in 63’
.He died crossing this finish line
an aneurysm in his brain.”
Unfinished business binds him here
A restless spirit, more than most,
The race is ever to the swift
The quick are beaten by a ghost
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
Wash my brain
Wash it clean
Burn it down with kerosene
Self inflicted lobotomy
I wish I could tell you what's wrong with me
I bring new meaning to heart Disease
Everything I love runs speedily
It's for the best
Don't you agree?
They'll never see
My crazy streak
They'll love me for
What I am not
The empty smiles
And pointless thoughts
I'll put them in my special box
and pretend that I forgot
This is just a game I play
to keep the rain at bay
Nothing more to say
I was born this way
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
i was watching batman (1989) and batman returns (1992)
today, and i couldn't stop layering over birdman (2015)
over both films, it was such a comedy, you knew
that it wasn't a serious engagement
in the role, i just kept picturing
the internal monologue -
the action scenes were already
a gimmick when in the birdman
the explosions start with the critique
of what people actually like to see -
and that critique that the joker
is no more a weird'o than batman
dressed in black leather / spandex -
i just wish heath ledger took a break
from acting, and they did the same
sort of film about the actor behind
the joker, but how would they internalise
the essence of the role: the laughter...
internalising a husky voice can be easily
done when the actor in a different role
can talk easily and speedily without that
haunting husky role of the original part...
but the laughter? it would never work,
which is why jack warned heath
about playing the role... 'son, beware
the laughter.' still, what an enjoyable re-watch,
putting over the birdman nostalgia
over the seriousness of the acting in the
originals, you can actually imagine him
going for a coffee break and taking a ****
when the original screening took place,
the whole: back to reality - it really amplified
the films in a quirky way;
and i still think the joker is the only
doppelgänger that can't be tamed: i'm guessing
because of coulrophobia -
and i could still see remnants of this mythical
doppelgänger on heath in the imaginarium
of dr. parnassus... the clowns are onto you,
you can't steal one of them from
the jammed mini or volkswagen beetle with 20 of them in it,
plus the crying clown, everyone's heard of that
one, they mime laughter, this vocalised doppelgänger
of a clown is cursed -
because unlike actual mimes they don't surd
bewilderment being stuck in a box, or touching
a brick wall obstacle... they surd laughter,
and they share it among themselves in a circus,
vocalising that surd is a curse,
since vocalising an actual mime leaves you
without the actual abstractions,
and from what i heard, brick walls are silent
like graves, unless of course you punch one
or smash a car into one.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Abandoned, deserted and forsaken to whine.
In privation was he left lonely to pine.
His friends like a bird fled to another tree,
Leaving him to rot away in Dundee.
His soul was parched, pained and weary,
Longing him to be refreshed speedily.
His heart was sad, bitter and lorn,
Praying him this even to morn would turn.
And the laden lad afterward to London went.
By labour and favour did he an apartment rent
And began in earnest his early dreams to pursue,
Having himself picked up, as a man ought to do--
After a certain disappointment or fall in life--
Chasing no fantasy, frivolities, but working to rule;
Neither was he as afore again playing the pool
But was saving straight, and soon he success struck,
By heaven's fortune that to him came--nay by luck:
Like it's no fluke finding a goodly and godly wife--
It was by grace that he was wherefore blessed.
So his old chummy comrades to him returned to nest:
To wine and dine with him more like before. But he,
Once bitten, twice shy, was wise enough to repeat folly.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Blood boils, turns and swirls
and the flow is disturbed.
Speedily the air rushes into
my lungs, overwhelmingly
my heart starts to race, I
never thought I could feel
this way. My emotions are
trying to catch-up but my
mind is trapped, paralyzed in
confusion, crawling at the
thought that I will never see
her face in this life again.
What was once life is now
mere a thought, the tears of
men will never last but these
memories are locked within,
I cherish I smile I cry I love.
I know you are at peace
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
He was never as good as the other children,
At school they made him think he was to slow
For their games of
Hide
&
Seek
As how hard is it to find a slug when
A slippery, slimy trails left behind him.
He was never that fast always taking
Time to get to those places that
Others would speedily get too.
But what was the fun of missing
Views,
People,
Scenery
Always rushed past, he would take a
Moment to speak to those taking time
Out of a gradual slow day, until someone not
Gazing,
Looking,
Noticing
The slimly little trail, as they disappeared
Down a soggy path, anger turned to laugher
As they had the time of their life.
And on that day a new venture was played
A slowly little fellow,
Would slowly edge his way up the hill.
Once he was there, once he chilled out, they
Slipped,
Slithered,
Skidded,
Down the slope with glee, a little fellow
He didn't run, jump, skip, only slowly walked,
But no one minded. It wasn't the climb up,
The school walk wasn't as slow anymore,
It was the speed that everyone went the other way down.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;--
His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;--
His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins,--but it is not known whose;--
His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;--
His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;--
His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.
He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;--
And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;--
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;--
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,--
And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;--
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;--
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.--
He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;--
They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,--
They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;--
And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,--
When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;--
They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;--
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,--
Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
'I will not wear a similar dress any more,
'Any more, any more, any more, never more!'
1.4k
On my fingers, on my tongue-
Your taste a sweet and pleasing one.
I unwrap you greedily
And nibble on you speedily.
Milk chocolate, I can't resist-
in miniatures or in a kiss.
Three musketeers are worth the fee-
all for one and one for me.
In a pudding or a bar
I enjoy you in my home or car.
In drink, you warm my winter day
once my shovels been put away.
Intoxicating like fine wine,
Your antioxidants are all mine.
I sneak away with you, my treasure,
an old fat man's one guilty pleasure.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 7:50 AM UTC
I spontaneously decide
to get on my bike
and cycle to the grocery store.
I didn't think twice,
sometimes you don't need to,
intuition often works fine.
I grab my purse,
take my bicycle out the shed
and go on my way.
It feels like flying sky high:
the wind blowing hard in my back,
(force five)
pushing me along the road.
The cars pass me,
also seemingly without effort.
The shadows of the clouds
speedily move ahead of me.
After a while, I leave the green sea
of the countryside behind me,
as I turn on a path that runs
between two lines of trees.
An old man is on a walk
inside the peacefulness of the trees,
enjoying some time alone.
Once I leave this green corridor,
with a tall bridge in between,
I soon, maybe too soon, arrive in town.
Into the grocery store,
get what I need,
get in line to pay
and get back on my bike.
Time to go home.
Instead of making me happy
and blowing in my back,
the wind now blows in my face.
The muscles in my legs
soon start complaining,
thinking they work too hard.
In the green corridor,
I pass a mother
walking with her child
and taking out the dog.
Up the bridge again,
this time so much harder
to cycle upwards.
But also, much more satisfying
to not push the pedals
and still move forward
when you're on your way down.
This time round I need a few breaks,
as the wind causes my nose to run
and I need to use some tissues.
Out on the plains again,
I pass a woman
who's playing with her dog,
practicing its tricks
and playing with a ball.
I pass a man
cycling in the opposite direction,
the wind now in his back.
I feel jealous.
Finally some respite
as I cycle through a village.
The houses soften the wind.
But when the village ends,
the wind seems to blow
much harder than before.
I now envy all the drivers
in their cars, passing me easily.
As I approach the last turn in the road
I realize I don't care
that the wind tries to blow me off my bike.
I'm almost home.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
It is copyright © Leonard Cohen 2006 and Jacket magazine 2007.
Takanawa Prince Hotel Bar
Slipping down into the Pure Land
into the Awakened State of Drunk
into the furnance blue Heart of the
one one one true Allah the Beloved
Companion of Dangerous Moods–
Slipping down into the 27 Hells
of my own religion my own sweet
dark religion of drunk religion
my bended knee of Poetry my robes
my bowl my scourge of Poetry
my final circumcision after
the circumcision of the flesh
and the circumcision of the heart
and the circumcision of the yearning
to Return to be Redeemed
to be Washed to be Forgiven Again
the Final Circumcision the Final
and Great Circumcision–
Broken down awhile
and cowarding
in the blasting rays
of Hideous Enlightenment
but now finally surrendered to the Great
Resignation of Poetry
and not the kind of Wise Experience
or the false kisses of Competitive
Insight, but my own sweet dark
religion of Poetry my ***** prize
my sandals and my shameful prayer
my invisible Mexican candle
my useless oils to clean the house
and remove my rival’s spell
on my girlfriend’s memory–
O Poetry my Final Circumcision:
All the pain was in fearing
and ignoring the girl’s voice
and the girl’s touch and the girl’s
fragrant humbling girlishness
which was lost three wars ago–
And O my love I love you again
I am your dog your cat
your Cleopatran snake
I am bleeding painlessly
from the Final Formless Circumcision
as I push up your dress a little way
and kiss your miraculously
lactating knee
And may all of you who watch
and G-d forbid!
are in a suffering predicament
as I go sliding down to Love–
may you speedily be embraced by
the girlishness of your own
dark girlish religion
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
the wind has been
strong of late
it has blown
at a rapid rate
with wind
blowing so speedily
we're anchoring
our belongings tightly
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
The darkness fell and never left,
The rain came beating to the ground,
As somberly he looked, bereft,
At Father who made not a sound
And Mother lost to all around,
He made a pledge, an oath of hate,
And ne’er to break his word was he;
Protect all others from this fate,
Not to allow misdeeds to be:
Destroy all wrong that he could see
By taking down immoral men,
By any means and any form
So his days were spent, but then,
His heart still craved for loving; warm
Bodies to interlace, perform -
Almost like a dream she came,
A woman born not of this Earth,
Diana Prince, her given name,
And he knew not of her real worth,
Or of the true place of her birth;
He found himself in lustful daze,
Watching as she flicked her hair,
Smiled in most adoring ways,
He knew this thing he could not share
Thus the two became a pair -
Though both hid a secret deep,
Neither one prepared to say
And both their silence they did keep,
Until the one most momentous day
When fate had its own hand to play;
In mortal danger they were found,
Roped around in knots and ties
By wicked creatures underground,
At last their secrets they described,
Identities they’d dared to hide;
She had her doubts of baring truths,
But knew her lover understood
Why she had been made to choose
Although all that she did was good,
A choice made to evade spilled blood;
He told her of that fearful night
When as a child his parents died
And left him in this world to fight
Alone; in the mansion he’d reside,
His want and need for love denied,
He told of his cape, his helm, and cave,
She of inherent power,
Neither flustered, both were brave
In face of their darkest hour,
And bells rang out from Gotham’s tower
Declaring that now it was time;
The two of them combined must fight,
And brave they fought against the crime,
Cloaked, hidden under dark of night
Until the dawn of morning light;
The end of the battle now was near,
A thousand men lay lost, defeated
And Gotham’s citizens did cheer,
As speedily the rest retreated
The dark of Batman's heart depleted.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
Before her the open laptop stares
At settled coffee shop young lady
smart appearance nice hair.
Phone close, to hand for just maybe.
nowhere in particular she looks here and there,
as she shares short glances between
coffee shop phone and screen,
An image created of controlled serenity,
around her the tidal increase of customers ebb and flow.
Laptop screen, a document shines out, I'm here.
Momentarily her phone blinks me too
then returns to outward inactivity.
An embryo smile flickers, perhaps a thought
of the fleeting communication, perhaps not,
voices sway back and forth then, spike of a laugh
quickly swallowed by the ambience to give way
to hisses, gurgles of music coffee machines play.
Young men perch and slouch in fervent conversation
They leave, talking, passing Dad with daughters so pleased
when discovering window side seats, wait in anticipation,
where delivers Dad , then into newspaper immerses.
Girls silently survey the scene, hot chocolate cupped
shortly paper closes, a look, chocolate speedily drunk
to join dads exit swift, wordless and abrupt
past headphoned staff in crockery recovery.
Incessantly tables change coffee treats enjoyed again,
The coffee shop laptop lady alone but not lonely
chooses to be, just maybe, happy in her own skin.
scorsby
MICHAEL C CROWDER 1st January 2019
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC
He always thought
hers was a peasant's body
not as a critique
but by something
about the simplicity
of the way she walked
or stood or the way
she lay on the double bed
one hand resting
on her naked abdomen
her brown haired head
on a pillow at rest
the way one leg
was raised
one flat down
on the bed
the small area
of ***** hairs
he was by the window
of his bedroom
looking at the garden below
then up along the road
the afternoon sun
settling on the trees
aren't you coming
back to bed?
she said
still not satiated ?
he said smiling
sensing his pecker move
not of you
she said
or of Percy
if he's willing
he sniggered
at her nickname
for his pecker
the green bus went by
along the road
good God
he said
that's her bus
whose?
she said
my mother's bus
she’ll be here
in a few minutes
she lay there
open mouthed
uncertain of what
to say or do
you'll have to get up
and we'll go
before she wonders
what we were doing
up here
he said
she moved from the bed
as if in a daze
her nakedness complete
her ******* bobbing
her hands searching
around for her clothes
he moved faster
hurrying his dressing
taking quick glimpses
through the window
his mother was not
in view
he took a glance
at his lover
semi dressed
hair in a mess
her naked buttocks
disappearing
into cloth
he loved that final glimpse
of nakedness
that final sight
of bare flesh
his mother was in sight
along the road
quick
he said
downstairs
and she grabbed
her stockings
and shoes
and followed him
down the stairs
two at a time
her bare feet
sensing the cold floor
through the kitchen
and out the back door
along the brick pathway
he closed the door
and locked
and put the key
back under the mat
and speedily
followed his lover
into the woods
the ground prickling
beneath his feet
and she smiling
out of breath
hiding behind
the old shed
putting on her stockings
and he wondering
how it may have been
if his mother
had caught them
making love
and their nakedness seen.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
Time, thoughts
incoherently
show
hazy veil
crowding
sail
direction none.
Where all begins
where it goes
where comes from
where it grows...
life a mixture
bubbles
slowly blowing
heart inside
knows no Knight
belief succumbs...
Passing lights
sparkles of night
weakly rise
in darkness
shine.
Days mark pace
speedily race
desire bears
fruit of care.
Maybe tomorrow
maybe now
maybe a path
will meet the bow.
Choice runs
marathon ...
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC